


Snoop

by somekindofseizure



Series: WTID Supplemental Reading [21]
Category: The Fall (TV 2013), The X-Files
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 09:44:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15793983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofseizure/pseuds/somekindofseizure
Summary: Anonymous said: i feel like dana scully 100% would snoop through stella’s things to determine her birthday and send her flowers





	Snoop

“What the fuck are you doing?” Scully hears before she even hears the door shut. She’s been sloppy about this: beginning to search one area before the previous is even really done, contents of drawers and closets disgorged across hallways and countertops and middles of rooms as though a violent virus of inanimate things has struck the flat.

“I just –“ and she’s on her feet, brushing her hair out of her face before Stella can reach the kitchen.

Stella smiles with half her face. The other half is more disciplined, more committed to anger, more distrustful that there could be any possible good reason for being spied on by a friend. Scully scratches her thighs along the hems of her running shorts and realizes she still smells like sweat and the sticky London spring weather. It takes her less time to complete a jog than it does Stella to get to the pool, get in, shower and get back, but not much more time, and she’d been determined to get this done.

“I’ll clean it up.”

“What were you looking for?”

Stella comes around the counter, looks at Scully as though she’s two feet taller instead of the two extra inches her shoes give her over Scully’s Nikes.

“Your birthday. You wouldn’t tell me.”

“You know how old I am.”

“Right, and that’s the worst part, so why won’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t like a fuss.”

“I won’t make a fuss.”

Stella takes her by the baggy sides of her t-shirt and pulls her close.

“The seventeenth.”

“Of what?”

“Of none of your fucking business.”

Scully lets Stella kiss her, slip her the slightest bit of tongue. There’s a twinge of something on her saliva, athletic and aqua-colored, metals mixed to ward off algae and kill anything warm and human. This is probably part of what Stella likes, the guarantee of being cold and sterile and untouchable for an hour and change, but one kiss and she’s alive and vulnerable to disease and joy and heartbreak again.

“Guess I’ll have to send you flowers on the seventeenth of every month, then,” Scully says.

And she lets Stella laugh as though she’s kidding.


End file.
